A Crooked Kind of Perfect
by thatgirlwithonedimple
Summary: Graham's been acting different since he met Emma, and Regina isn't liking it. How far will she go to make sure what's hers is hers, and what's Emma's is, well, still hers? A story about Graham's two special women in his life. Sheriff Swan; Sheriff Queen
1. Accusation

"Everything alright, Emma?" Ruby asked as she set down a coffee mug on her table.

Emma's eyes snapped back into reality. She lifted her head to face Ruby and forced a smile. "Oh, yeah, everything's fine. Why do you ask?"

"Because you were just about to wrap your cell phone in those pancakes," she gestured at the pancakes in Emma's left hand, and her cell phone in the other.

Emma quickly put down the pancake and her phone. "Sorry, I just can't seem to get my mind focused today."

Ruby leaned towards Emma. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No, I'm fine, really, I—"

Just then, the door burst open. The mayor glided into the diner as if she were a queen. She ignored the 'Good morning, Ms. Mayor!'s and dismissed the happy faces directed at her. She simply aimed her eyes on Emma Swan, with a faint glow of anger across her face. Pushing Ruby out of the way, Regina slammed her palms on the table, and glared at Emma. "We need to talk."

"No use in doing that. She's not talking" Ruby muttered, rolling her eyes.

Regina annoyingly became aware of Ruby's presence, and turned around to face her. "Shouldn't you be taking orders in that tight, little skirt of yours?"

Ruby stiffened and walked away speechless, leaving a content Regina. But her smile quickly faded as she turned to face Emma again. "Okay, what did you _do_?"

"Well, good morning to you too, Ms. Mayor," she said, taking a sip from her coffee.

"Emma, I'm serious," Regina sat down in front of her.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Graham's been acting strange and he won't talk to me," Regina blurted.

Emma almost smirked. Almost. "You think I had something to do with this?"

"Oh, I _know_ you did," she snapped. "Last night, he-he kept saying your name over and over again in his sleep. And this morning, he said he needed to tell you about his dream, and he wouldn't tell me anything!"

"Maybe you could try being nicer to people."

"I am nice!" Regina yelled, causing the entire diner to look up. In a quieter tone, she said, "Look, Graham hasn't been the same since he met you last week. He keeps talking about you, and asks questions about you with Henry. Last night, he said, 'Please, Emma, _please_' in his sleep. And now he's not talking to me at all!" Regina leaned in closer to Emma. "Whatever it is you're doing to him, _stop._"

The mayor rose from her seat and left, leaving Emma quiet and confused. After a few minutes of letting her words sink in, Emma paid for her breakfast and exited the diner. She saw Regina walking towards Henry's school and decided to go in the other direction. As she turned around the corner, she slammed into someone. "I'm so sorry, I—"

"Oh, it's you, Emma!" the man said, rubbing his head where they had collided. He pushed his glasses back onto the ridge of his nose.

"Hi, Archie," she smiled.

"I, uh, I was just on my way to Granny's," he managed to let out. Emma noticed his hands were starting to sweat. "Would you, um, do you think you could—I mean, would you like to join me?"

As kind and sweet as Archie was, Emma shook her head. "I'm sorry, Archie, I just left there a few minutes ago with the mayor actually .Maybe some other time?"

Archie ran his hand through his hair in a sort of awkward motion. "Oh, um, okay, some other time then. I'll, uh, I'll see you'll later." And with that, he whipped around the corner.

By the time Emma arrived home, or rather Mary Margaret's home, she found a note on the front porch. It reeked with vanilla and had scribbles of small, curly handwriting across it. It read:

_Emma, meet me at the police station tonight at 8pm. It's about my dream. –Graham._

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**A/N: Please leave a review! I'm not sure if I should keep going with this though. I really want to know what you guys think! Thanks :)**


	2. At the Police Station

"Graham?" called Emma, into the darkness of the police station.

It was eight o'clock. Eight-oh-one, to be exact. The tick-tock of the clock echoed through the air, and the light from the doorway seeped in like a small flood. Emma's heart thudded so loud that she was sure it was louder than the clock. But her body remained still. Eight-oh-two. Her eyes flickered from shadow to shadow, and still her feet hadn't moved an inch.

"Graham, are you here?" she called again, her voice softer, her heartbeat faster.

Something wasn't right.

For a moment, Emma thought she heard the quiet creaking of the floor, or saw a quick, but faint movement from the corner of her eye. She found herself holding her breath and exhaled. She spread her hand onto the wall, searching for a light switch. She tried again on the other side of her with her other hand and felt a warm body. A breathing body. Suddenly, she felt the body's hot breath on the side of her bare neck. "Can I help you with something?"

Emma's body finally relaxed. She turned around to face the owner of the distinctive accent and sturdy, broad chest. And then they were inches apart from each other. Neither of them bothered to move. "What took you so long?" whispered Emma. In that moment, both of them understood the real meaning of her words, and both of them chose to ignore it.

It was Graham who stepped away from Emma and into the room to turn on the lights. "I had to fix the electricity for this room. The lights have been blinking on and off all day." He smiled and sat on the edge of his desk.

Emma pulled a chair out and sat down. "And you decided to fix it _now_?"

Graham raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, I didn't know there were certain times a sheriff should repair his lights." He pulled out some papers from a drawer and started going through them. "Maybe you could take my place, Emma."

"The last thing I want to do in this town is become its sheriff," laughed Emma. "I'm only staying for a few more days because of Henry."

"Ah, Henry," nodded Graham, still smiling. "He has a wild imagination that boy."

"Wilder than you can imagine," agreed Emma. "Who does he think you are in his book?"

"I'm sorry?" Graham looked up from his papers.

"In his book," explained Emma. "Which fairytale character does he think you are?"

Graham paused and set down his papers. "I—uh, don't recall him telling me about that."

"Oh," said Emma. "So what's it like being the town sheriff?"

"Uh—well, not much, really," replied Graham. "It's usually the same thing every day, you know."

Graham returned to his papers. He clearly didn't see any point in this conversation. He just kept waiting for Emma to leave.

"So what's your favorite—?"

"Look, Emma, is there something I can help you with?" interrupted Graham. "I really need to finish these forms."

Emma frowned. "But I thought you were going to tell me about your dream?"

Graham's eyes widened. He stood up to face Emma and said quietly, "How did you know about my dream?"

"I—I don't, I thought you were—"

"Miss Swan, pleasure seeing you here."

Graham and Emma turned to face the owner of the voice standing in the doorway. "Regina." said Emma, starting to feel the tension.

Regina approached Emma with a smile filled with pure poison. "I see you've gotten my note."

"_Your_ note?"

"Wait, what note?" asked Graham, confused.

"That's right, I wrote it," beamed Regina. "Did you really think Graham would tell you about his dream?"

Emma looked at Graham and knew she was right.

"Regina, stop this," said Graham.

Regina finally turned to face him. "This is the first time you've talked to me all day, and you tell me to _stop_?"

"Look, you don't understand—"

"I heard you last night, Graham," Regina's voice bruised with pain. "Why have you been ignoring me?"

"I'm sorry, I just didn't feel like talking."

"Oh, so you'll talk to Emma, but not to me?"

"Why do you care so much about Emma?"

"I don't!" cried Regina. "But apparently you do."

Regina stared at Emma long and hard. She wanted to make Emma feel the pain that filled Regina's body, to let her know how much it hurt her to yell at him. She wanted Emma to suffer. And she wanted to see what Graham saw in her. But she couldn't.

Then she left.

"Graham, I'm sorry," started Emma. "I had no idea Regina—"

"Just leave," Graham closed his eyes. "Please."


	3. Graham's Dream

_He was at the police station. It was dark. Cold. But he wasn't alone._

_Beating. His heart was beating. Loud and quick. Strong and short. He was out of breath. But he was smiling. "Regina's not going to like that," he heard himself say._

_ Emma looked up at him and giggled. "Would you like me to stop?"_

_ "I didn't say that."_

_ This wasn't like Emma. He knew it too. He didn't question it, didn't think about it too long. _

_ Her shining blonde hair bounced around him as she sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. He could feel her warm breath on his cheek and the rapid pulse of her heart. _

_ Emma giggled again._

_ "What's so funny, love?"_

_ He felt Emma's long nails drag across his bare back. Emma didn't usually have long nails. "You."_

_ She leaned into him until he was lying against his desk. In the police station. At night._

_ "Why am I so funny?" He pushed back a few golden strands behind Emma's ear, and cupped her face in his warm hands. _

_ She giggled. Louder. She even threw her head back. He reached for her shoulders, her neck, her skin. He pressed his lips upon her beating heart. _

_ "Because…" Emma's voice echoed._

_ He started to unbutton her wrinkled blouse._

_ "You still think you're in love with Regina."_

_ Her voice faded. His hands froze. And the scene slowly drifted away._

Graham's eyes flew open as he inhaled sharply. He sat up and pushed off the covers. His hand reached for the lamp on the bedside table. He placed his hand on his heart. It was still beating. Just like in his dream. His second dream. It was different from the first. Emma's words quietly replayed over and over in his mind. He stood up and walked out the door.

He had to confront a special woman who had been haunting his dreams.


	4. Worth the Pain

There was a knock at the door. Two knocks. Probably three more. _Who could possibly be up at this hour in the morning?_ Regina thought, rushing down the stairs, tying her robe together. She flipped on the lights, glanced at the wall mirror to make sure her hair wasn't a mess, and opened the door.

"Graham," the name escaped Regina's mouth so comfortably, as if she had been repeating it for the past hour.

She quickly wrapped her arms around him. It was a different kind of hug though. A cautious one. Graham didn't hug back. But he didn't pull away either. "Regina, I came here to apologize."

The mayor looked up into his eyes and nodded, accepting him. "It's okay, Graham, I forgive you."

"I'm so sorry I ignored you," he said quietly. "I didn't...I should've been open with you about it."

Regina dropped her hands down to his elbows. "I don't like fighting with you."

Then there was a silence, leaving the sentence floating in the air. Right in between them. The two just stood there for a moment in the deep moonlight, thinking, wondering. Slowly, Graham led her out onto the porch, not looking away from her eyes for a second.

Regina fought back a smile. This wasn't right. Graham wasn't happy. They both sat on the steps, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Cautiously. She didn't know why Graham still felt so distant from her. She had won him, hadn't she? He was sitting on her steps, wasn't he? And yet, as she slowly slithered her hand into his, she couldn't help but notice how still he sat. His fingers were cold, and she gently squeezed his hand to warm them. Gently. Cautiously. She saw his eyes trained on the far road across them, the lazy sun barely peeking above the horizon. She recognized his steady breathing…in and out…in and out…in and—

"Look, Regina," said Graham, moving his body so that she was forced to lift her head and face him. "I told you I came here to apologize."

She almost rolled her eyes. "I know, Graham, and I accept your apology."

"No, that…that's not my full apology," he shifted in his position nervously. "There's more."

Regina pulled her hand back from Graham's and suddenly knew that things were about to get ugly.

"I've been having this same dream lately," he began, "and it's made me realize—"

"It's about Emma, isn't it?" she fired, standing up.

Graham's eyebrows rose at the sound of her name. He stood to meet her height. "What's this got to do with Emma?"

"That's what you dream about, right?" Regina said, half frustrated, half hoping she was wrong. "You hear her name and think about her and talk about her, and now you're dreaming about her! What is so special about Emma?"

"Why do you _care_?" he almost yelled it. But he didn't want to hurt her that much. "Am I not allowed to talk to any other females except you?"

"No, you're not allowed to dream about Emma Swan naked in your own office!" It wasn't a scream. It was a cry for help. She wanted so hard to believe that Graham was hers and hers alone. She wanted so much to know that for once she had won something that Emma would never have. But she couldn't. She couldn't know for sure if winning the prize was worth the sacrifice. Worth the pain. "I already lost Henry," she continued, but her voice was a broken whisper, "and I don't want to lose you too."

Graham reached for Regina, but this time, she was the one to pull away. "You haven't lost Henry—"

"Yes, I have!" she averted her eyes and tried to blink back the tears. "He thinks I'm the Evil Queen! And it's all because of _her_."

"Why are you always blaming everything on Emma?" he said.

"Because everything's her fault!" cried Regina. "She's pulling you away from me, can't you see that?"

He shook his head and closed his eyes, refusing to believe, refusing to see. "You're wrong, Regina." He opened his eyes and dared to look straight at her. "Maybe you're just pushing everyone away."

Regina swallowed hard. The bit her lip and took a deep breath. _"Would you take care of me, Graham? Love me? Help me? Heal all my pain?" asked Regina, pain threaded in her voice. She waited. She watched him stand there, shuffling his feet and refusing to meet her eyes. She watched him struggle to come up with a soft, innocent response that wouldn't anger her. And she waited. And waited. And waited. And gave up. "That's what I thought." _

_Graham finally looked up to meet her eyes. But she had gone._


	5. The Next Morning

Emma winced as her tongue dipped into her steamy mug of coffee. She barely got enough sleep last night. She had spent hours lying awake and staring at the ceiling, or tossing and turning across her bed, or even lying against her bed in frustration when she had woken up on the floor. She was not in the mood to talk to anyone this morning, especially when she heard a knock at the door at seven-thirty in the morning. She certainly wasn't in the mood to carry a conversation with anyone when she heard the doorbell ring—twice. And she definitely wasn't in the mood to face anyone who hadn't even defended her when the mayor fired insults at her at the police station. He probably didn't care about her at all.

The knock continued. The doorbell rang on. But Emma was determined to ignore him no matter what. She hated apologies. They never meant anything to her. And she really didn't want to hear them from Graham.

Mary Margaret walked into the kitchen as gracefully and casually as possible. She greeted Emma 'good morning' and told her about her busy work schedule. Then she stopped. "I think someone's at the door…" she let her comment hang in the air.

"I know."

"They seem very persistent."

"I know."

"You don't want to answer it, do you?"

"No, I do not."

Mary Margaret smiled like she knew what was wrong. Like she knew exactly what it felt like and exactly how to deal with it. "Well, we can't leave them there forever."

"He'll go away."

After a quick eye-roll and a deep exhale, Mary Margaret decided to leave Emma's situation alone. "I should get going then," she slipped on her coat, grabbed some heavy-looking bags, and headed for the door.

Emma's head sank beneath her crossed arms on the table. She heard Mary Margaret open the door.

"Oh, hi, Henry!" she said, half-cheerfully and half-confused.

"Hi, Ms. Blanchard," a sweet, familiar voice slithered through the air and reached Emma's ears. "Is Emma awake?"

Mary Margaret quickly blocked the Henry's move to enter the apartment. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Henry, Emma is…uh, she's still…Look, I don't think she wants to—"

"_See_ that you're here instead of getting ready for school!" Emma barely managed to cut in. It wasn't the best, but it would have to do for now. She glanced at Mary Margaret and slightly shook her head, trying to convey that she wasn't avoiding Henry. "Why don't you go on ahead to the school, and I'll, uh, walk him there in a few minutes."

Mary Margaret nodded and walked to her car briskly. Emma and Henry walked inside and locked the door.

"Emma, you'll never believe what happened last—"

"Henry," she stopped him there. She didn't want to deal with fantasy creatures and magical fairytale characters right now. She just wanted a small bit of reality to make her feel better. But with Henry, she knew she wasn't going to get anything near that. "You really should get ready for school. You can't keep skipping classes forever."

"I know but—"

"You know, you only go to school for eight hours. Can't you wait until school's over to hang out?"

"But Emma, this is really—"

"And what would your mother say if she knew you were ditching school to hang out with me? Me, of all people? She would—"

"Emma, listen to me!" he cried. "I overheard my mom and Graham last night talking to each other."

She paused. She could've sworn he said 'mom and dad'. But she knew better. "It's not really any of my business, Henry."

"They were talking about you," he added quickly.

And so he spilled. He described how he heard a knock at the door in the middle of the night. He retold how he spotted Graham's sheriff car parked in his driveway. He had watched through the slight opening of his bedroom door as his mother slipped out of her room and raced down the stairs. He even told her where he hid to eavesdrop on their conversation. He talked as fast and as cluelessly as a ten year-old could, not even realizing the true meaning of his mother's insults. His hands moved around to emphasize how long the two had stayed outside on the porch, or how loud his mom had screamed at Graham, and even the look on Regina's face when she slammed the door shut and saw him crouched at his hiding spot. He had never been so scared of his mom in his entire life.

"Why were you scared?" asked Emma quietly.

"She got out the belt and started—" he stopped himself. He didn't want Emma to know. Not now. Not yet. "I mean, I thought my mom was hurt, so I was scared that I would get hurt too."

Technically, he wasn't lying. Every time his mom was hurt, he got hurt just as bad. But at the end of his "lesson" (as she had always called it), she would drill into his mind that it was "our little secret".

Emma could tell she had hit a soft spot. She changed course. "So uh, did Graham talk about this dream he had?" She had to try.

"Well, kinda, but my mom mostly talked about it," he answered, but he didn't meet Emma's eyes and shuffled his feet. "It was weird. She said she didn't like that he was dreaming about you in his office or something," he decided to leave out the part about his mom saying Emma was naked in Graham's office. "Then she said that she was already losing me and she didn't want to lose Graham too…" he paused, still not sure what his mom meant by that. "She said it was all because of you."

Emma stiffened. "She did?"

But Henry was still replaying his mother's words over and over again in his head. "What do you think she meant by that? That she's losing me because of you?"

"I don't…" Emma was going to say she didn't know what Regina meant. That she had no idea what Regina was talking about. But she knew exactly what she was saying. And she didn't want him to know. "Look, Henry, we should get going if we're going to walk all the way to your school. You can't be late."

She didn't wait for him to object. She pulled on a jacket, grabbed Henry's backpack, and opened the door.

And she found Sheriff Graham right in the door frame with his hand balled in the air as if he was about to knock. "Hello, Emma," he said, a tiny bit surprised that she opened the door right before he was going to knock on it. "C-can we talk?"

She pressed her lips together and glanced at Henry, who was trying to zip up his overstuffed backpack. "I'm sorry, now's not a good time. I have to walk Henry to school right now so he won't be late."

"Emma," he said seriously. "Please?"

"No, I really—"

"Oh, that's okay, Emma," Henry assured her, finally getting the zipper all the way around. "I can walk myself." He walked right out the door and nodded at Graham. "See ya later, Sheriff."

Emma watched Henry cross the street and walk along the sidewalk. "So…what did you want to talk about?"

She realized her fingers were interlocked with Graham's and looked up surprised. "I love you, Emma."


	6. That One Moment

**A/N: I usually don't do author's notes, but I really wanted to say this: This story isn't just going to describe the love life of Emma and Graham, but also the relationships between Emma and Regina, Regina and Graham (obviously), Regina and Henry, and Emma about Regina and Henry (chapter 5 *hint hint*). Also, I'll try to update more regularly, like every two to three days or so. Oh, and don't forget to leave a review! Okay, that's all. I'll shut up now. **

* * *

It was three in the afternoon. The sun seemed particularly brighter, if not hotter, on that September autumn day. That was reason Emma and Graham chose to stay inside. Together. In Mary Margaret's apartment. On the couch.

"Well, I'm not quite sure how to explain this," he snaked his arm around her shoulders, slinking off the strap of her tank top in a subtle way. "But when two people have very strong feelings for each other, they find ways to express their love by putting their lips to each other or sometimes—"

"I know _why_ people kiss, Graham," she buried her face in his chest, hiding her embarrassment and her quiet smile.

"Well, then you shouldn't ask questions you already know the answer to," he pointed out as he pulled her closer to take in the beautiful and distinct scent of her hair. "Besides," he murmured into her ear, "you know the real reason we're here. Together. Alone. Kissing each other like two awkward pandas."

He felt the warmth of her laugh across his chest and smiled back.

"Awkward?" repeated Emma, lifting her head to meet his serene blue eyes.

Graham ran his hand through her tangled hair to get the golden loose strands out of her eyes. "Okay, not awkward then. How about _two adorable pandas who both have two left hands_?"

Before she got a chance to respond, he pressed his lips against hers and moved his hand to the back of her head. He leaned down against her until she was lying on her back. Her warm fingers cupped his face and he smiled in between kisses as he felt her rapid heartbeat match with his. His free hand gently thumbed away the other strap of her tank top and he found that she wasn't wearing a bra. He also found that his shirt was gone. Not that he had a problem with that or anything. His lips moved down to the line of her jaw and slowly inched their way to the softness of her neck. Then to her neck joint. Then her shoulder. Then—

"Graham," Emma's hand caught his wet, hungry lips, stopping him from going any lower—any farther than her limits. She lightly pushed him away and sat up. Graham spied his black V-neck shirt on the floor in front of Emma's feet. "I don't we should—"

"Yeah."

"It's kind of—"

"I know."

"I didn't mean to sound—"

"No, no, don't be," Then he realized his words didn't make any sense. "I mean, _I'm_ the one who should be sorry."

Emma looked away. The straps of her tank top were back in place, but the urge of that one moment had left. Her eyes spotted the clock, hanging loosely on the wall. _Three-nineteen_. And it dawned on her. "Mary Margaret gets off from school at three-fifteen," she said aloud.

As if on que, the sound of jingling keys flooded through the air from the front door. She could hear the low comments of Mary Margaret as she struggled to find the right key. Without even thinking, she reached toward her feet and tugged on the shirt as fast as she could. She tripped on the folded corner of the rug as she headed for the door. Then as calmly and casually as possible, she opened the door.

"Oh, hi, Emma," Mary Margaret said in her usual chirpy voice. But her eyes narrowed as she saw Emma's clothing. "Um, why are you wearing that?"

Emma looked down. She was wearing Graham's black V-neck shirt. Backwards. She tried really hard not to blush, and then she realized that meant Graham was shirtless. On the couch. "Oh, _this_?" she acted as if she wore that shirt everyday. "I just, um, I saw it lying around and thought it would look good." She slowed each word, trying to give Graham enough time to find some decent shirt to wear.

"But, Em, it's, uh, backwards," Mary Margaret nodded at the tag sticking in the front.

"That's—I mean, I like wearing it backwards," she said. She could've sworn she heard a muffled laugh from the kitchen.

"If you say so, then," she moved towards the door, but Emma blocked her entrance. "Aren't you going to let me into my own home?"

She paused. Just _one_ more second of stalling. "Oh, right, sorry."

Mary Margaret swiftly walked past Emma and set her binders and bags on the dining table. She exhaled deeply as if she had been carrying a large weight for a while. She removed her shoes, and started going through her binder. Emma chose that moment to look behind the couch in hopes of finding a half-naked police officer lying on the floor. But he wasn't there. She left Mary Margaret in the kitchen and headed to the bathroom. "Graham," she called. It was barely a whisper, but it echoed through the hall.

She turned the corner to head to her bedroom and a hand reached out to coverher mouth. A warm body instantly pinned her against the wall. The hand moved away from her mouth and above her head as she locked eyes with the shirtless sheriff. She felt him breathe in her face. She felt his other hand brush the side of her hip.

He chuckled quietly, like a whispered laugh. He leaned in closer to her until he was barely a centimeter from her lips. Then he said, "Excuse me, I'd like to have my shirt back."

Emma blushed but she didn't say anything when he lifted his shirt off of her.


	7. Delicate

"Wake up, beautiful," Graham whispered softly into Emma's ear.

After a long day of taking a walk in the park yesterday, the two had fallen asleep under an old oak tree, nestled in each other's arms. It was exactly one week since the 'backwards-shirt' incident happened. They talked almost all night, murmuring about the future and wincing about the past. Eventually, they both fell victim to the much-needed sleep. It was the first time Graham didn't dream about Emma the way he usually did. This time, she was finally his. His mind didn't have to make up parts of Emma that he'd never seen before. His mouth didn't have to worry about saying things in his sleep about her since he wasn't lying down with Regina. This was the first time since he had met Emma that he finally, _finally_ felt okay. And not the 'I'm sure it will wear off soon' okay, or the 'I just don't want to talk about it' okay—no, this was peace. True peace. And it was beautiful to his tired soul.

He had woken up before dawn, and agreed to stay awake and watch the sun slowly rise into the dull morning sky. He had seen the light golden rays of the sun drown Emma's hair with its warmth. He had been overwhelmed by the alluring radiance of her skin, and the sun's soft glow onto her innocent, sleeping smile. In his terms, 'beautiful' couldn't even begin to describe what he saw in that moment. 'Beautiful' would have been an understatement, an insult.

Graham pressed his lips to the tender skin beneath her ear. "Wake up, Emma, we have to get up."

A faint moan escaped from Emma's throat. She rolled over onto her side with her head resting on her elbow. Her hair, which had earlier been endowed with fresh sunlight, now fanned out behind her in twisted knots and tangles. Graham willingly brushed her hair to the side, and placed his hand on her cold shoulder. He leaned down to kiss her at the same time Emma decided to sit up. Foreheads collided, 'ouch's were exclaimed, and childish laughs erupted to each other. Graham chuckled a little quieter to hear Emma's warm laugh flow in the air like a melody. He kissed her softly and whispered, "Good morning, Emma."

"Good morning, Graham," she returned with a wide smile. She stood up, raised her arms above her head and stretched. A silent yawn escaped her mouth.

Graham seized that moment to grab her from the waist; he picked her up and spun her around in the air. Emma cried out to object at first, then succumbed to his hold and wrapped her arms around him. He stopped to put her down, his arms still locked at her waist.

"I love you, Graham."

"I love you too, Emma."

Their lips met once again, their mouths so easily adjusted to each other's shape. It was sweet enough to rot any dentist's teeth, but delicate enough to be broken by a strong, past bond.

Graham was the first to break away. "Come on, we have to get you home."

She sighed but didn't complain. Mary Margaret would have a fit.

They walked to the other end of the park where Graham's car was parked—at least, it started out as a walk. Then a nudge, back and forth. Then a chase. Then a pursuit. They dodged creeks and large rocks and trees with thick, twisted branches. Graham gently pushed Emma toward a bush, and Emma ran after him as he dashed away. Just as she was about to catch up with him, her foot got caught underneath a tree root and her body slammed into the ground. She heard a blood-chilling sound then almost instantly felt her entire left leg burning. Her knee was scraped from half-way up her thigh, down to the bottom of her knee. Both of her knees had fresh bruises forming, and her injured leg had thin streams of blood pouring to the ground. She kept one hand protectively around her ankle and tried to get Graham's attention. It hurt to scream his name out loud. It hurt to wave her arm about to get him to notice her. But it hurt the most knowing that if she ever collapsed into pain, Graham would keep on running without her.

The blood dripped from her knee to her ankle where her hand was. The blood mixed with the dirt and the dirt stuck to her leg. She couldn't move at all without feeling a small, yet deep strike of pain.

"Graham!" she screamed one last time using all the energy she had left until she fell onto her back in exhaustion.

But her voice was heard. That flat syllable, that one name reached his ears. Graham whipped his head around. It only took him a second to process Emma lying on her back with a pool of blood around her leg. He ran to her. He came to her. His heart beat faster than it ever had before, whether it was in panic, anxiety, or pure heartbreak. When he reached her limp body, he saw her foot turned a wrong way. Her eyes were shut. Her left calf was caked with dried blood and dirt. Up until now, Graham had never felt his heart shatter so quickly and so hopelessly.

He had to do something. He held back his tears like a dam restraining a waterfall. Wiping an escaped tear with the back of his hand, he pulled Emma into his arms and carried her like a baby. He ran to his car as fast as he could without letting Emma's ankle fly the other way. He could see the Sheriff's car already. Just a few more…

"Graham?" a voice called out at the same time someone else said, "Hi, Sheriff!"

Squeezing his eyes closed as if he were wincing, Graham recognized the two voices. One belonged to a little ten year-old kid with a crazy imagination. The other…belonged to the kid's mother. He hadn't spoken to Regina at all since he told her he was leaving her. But he remembered her voice all the same. Slowly, he turned around with Emma in his arms. "Oh, hey…guys."

"What happened to Emma?" Henry cried out and came to her side.

Graham struggled with his words. "She-she-I don't know-she—"

"She looks hurt," Henry said in a scared voice. "You have to get her to the hospital, quick."

"Right, the hospital, I was just about to go—"

"Come on, you can go with us! We'll drive you there," Henry suggested.

Henry pulled Graham by the arm and led him to his mother's car, not giving him a second to respond. Graham and Regina locked eyes for a moment, but didn't speak a word to each other. Henry opened the door for Graham who placed Emma in the backseat. He climbed in on the other side while Henry sat in the passenger's seat. Regina took her time to get to the car. She fumbled with her purse to find the right key. Once she had triple-checked that all her mirrors were set, she drove away to the hospital in a steady pace. She took the long way to the hospital despite Henry's and Graham's pleas to take the shorter route.

Graham's hands balled into fists. He knew exactly what Regina was doing. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. The car stopped at the glaring red light. Graham and Regina made eye contact in the rear mirror. And in that moment, Graham could've sworn he saw the creeping smile in her dark, wicked eyes.


	8. She lost hope

"Is she going to be alright, Dr. Whale?" Graham asked quietly.

Dr. Whale flipped through some papers on his clipboard and took some notes as he looked at the monitor. "Well, what we really have here is just a broken leg injury. _That_ we can fix. It can be fixed just as painfully as it can be broken. But if you want to be more specific…Emma lost a lot of blood—not just from the scrapes on her knees. It appears that when she tripped and broke her leg, she fell on something. And whatever that may be, it was sharp—sharp enough to sear her midway across the chest," he pointed at her heart region. "She was a mild head injury so we're going to give her some medications to ease the pain. But the thing we're most concerned about is her bloodstream. We've found some dirt mixed in with her blood on the cuts. I myself have tried to clean it as best as I can, but I think…" He flipped his clipboard shut and clicked off his pen. He looked down at Emma. "I think it's just not enough. People in this town rarely get sick, it seems. No one ever gets the flu or ever sprains an ankle. It's a bit peculiar perhaps. But to answer your question, if everything works out alright—if her body reacts to the medications just right or if her blood is regulated properly, then she should be healthy again in just a few weeks."

"What's wrong with her?" Graham asked. "Does she have an infection or something?"

The doctor hesitated before responding. "Honestly, we don't know exactly what's wrong with her. I mean, we know she's been infected and she has an unhealthy immune system, but we haven't figured out _what_ infection she's fighting." He stayed silent for a few seconds then headed for the door to leave Graham alone. Just as his hand touched the door, he turned around. "You don't happen to know if she's been smelling wet, paston grass all night, do you?"

The sheriff turned around. He lowered his eyes. "She, uh…she spent the night at the park near the police station last night. Would that—"

"Is that so?" Dr. Whale started. He reached for his clipboard and started scribbling away furiously. "That park, Sheriff, is filled with paston grass. If inhaled for a long period of time, it can greatly disrupt the immune system and affect the balancing part of the mind. This, uh, hasn't exactly happened before, but it makes sense now. When she broke her leg, her mind wasn't able to respond quick enough to level the blood spilling out versus the dirt pouring in. As for the reason she tripped on nothing—as you claim—it would be because her mind wasn't in control of her balance."

Dr. Whale headed for the door quickly, murmuring something about a 'paston infection'.

"Wait, I just have one question," Graham said. "I also fell asleep at the park that night, but I'm perfectly fine right now. Why is that?"

"Ah, well, you see," Dr. Whale began. "I've noticed something about the people that live in this town. I've studied medicine for years, and yet I've never had to prescribe anyone anything since I've worked here. You and I have lived here for quite a while, right? Well, Emma is from…somewhere else. Now, I don't know exactly why, but I think diseases and infections affect elsewhere people differently than us Storybrooke people. Scientifically, you should have caught the paston infection just like Emma had. But you didn't. Most people know this season as the 'flu season'. And yet, no one here has been given any medications or shots. It's the weirdest thing, I tell you."

He waited to see if Graham would ask him anymore questions then left.

Graham let out a deep sigh. It was five in the afternoon. He had been at the hospital for eight hours after Regina and Henry dropped him off. Henry had begged Regina to let him stay but she refused. Of course she would.

He sat down on the bed next to Emma and held her hand. "It's going to be okay, Emma."

He kept his eyes trained on her, watching for any movement or stir that would indicate she heard him. But it was stupid, he knew. Then again, love was stupid. And yet it was the most beautiful thing.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Even though it was closed, it was still glass. So Graham could see it was Mr. Gold with his usual, suspicious smile. Graham nodded to allow him in. Mr. Gold pulled open the door and walked into the room. "Good afternoon, Sheriff," he said.

"Afternoon, Mr. Gold," he returned. "Can I help you with something? Did someone break into a house? Steal some money?"

Mr. Gold smirked. "Sheriff, you and I both know very well that robberies never happen in this town."

"That's because I'm such a great sheriff," Graham joked, grinning.

Mr. Gold didn't smile back. "Right, well, I was wondering what Emma was doing here in the hospital. She doesn't seem hurt."

"Oh, she broke her leg at the park this morning."

"Did she?" he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, apparently she was inhaling this grass and it made her trip and break her leg," Graham explained.

Mr. Gold's eyebrows arched. "Grass made her trip?"

"No," Graham answered quickly. "This paston grass affected her mind I guess, and it made her loose her balance. She was running this morning, and she tripped on nothing, and that's how her leg got broken. And this paston grass gave her an infection, and she had bruises and scrapes. Some dirt got into her bloodstream, and Dr. Whale says she lost a lot of blood so she fainted."

"She lost a lot of blood?"

"Yeah, and—"

"That's wrong."

"Excuse me?"

"Look, Sheriff," Mr. Gold walked towards the bed to get a closer look at Emma, and to speak quieter to Graham. "I know what paston grass is. I grow it myself. I know how it affects people. I also know why Emma really fainted," he paused to make sure Graham knew what he was saying. "Emma didn't lose blood. She lost hope."

Graham stood up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means…whatever you want it to mean. Obviously, when Emma broke her leg, her mind was already infected. She was thinking things—probably about you. Maybe when she fell, she called for you. Screamed for you. And since you took so long, her mind started playing games with her heart, and then…"

"She thought I wasn't going to rescue her…" he said quietly. "She lost hope."

Mr. Gold didn't say anything, but his silence only confirmed his guess.

"But I did save her," Graham pointed out. "I mean, she's still alive, isn't she? Because of me?"

"Mmm, but what was it worth it?" Mr. Gold asked seriously. "Was proving your _love_ to her worth getting her in the hospital, just barely alive? When she wakes up, and trust me, she will, her brain is going to start battling with her heart over what really happened and what she _thought_ would happen. She might even hate you when she wakes up." He started for the door.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Mr. Gold slowly turned around. He didn't face him entirely, but he was looking at Emma. "Because, Sheriff, that same thing happened to me. My daughter. She hated me so much that she killed herself in disgust for me," he looked away. "But you never know. You just might be lucky enough to have her feel the same way she did for you as before." He opened the door. "Good night, Sheriff."

Then he was gone.


	9. True, Raw Pain

**A/N: I'm so sorry for not updating sooner! I just watched the OUAT winter finale last night (asdfghjkl) and realized it didn't fit with the chapter I was putting up so I had to change it. This was the best I could do on a last minute, so I hope you enjoy it! I'll love you forever if you leave a review! Thanks :)**

* * *

"Mom, stop!" Henry screamed as he crashed into the wall. He had never spoken out against her—ever.

"Do you realize—what—you've—done?" With each word, Regina raised her belt into the air, and with each pause, the belt snapped painfully onto her son.

Henry squeezed his eyes shut. To shut out the pain. To shut out the horror of what his mother truly was. Regina yanked him by the back of his shirt and threw him onto the stairs. "Look at me, Henry," his mother growled, tossing the belt away. When he refused to turn his head, she slapped him. "I said, _'Look at me'_!"

The hazel eyes found her brown eyes, and he trembled in fear.

"Please, Mom," he whispered. But even his whispered cracked. "I'm sorry."

His vulnerability only fueled Regina's anger. "Don't tell me you're sorry—I know you're not! Don't lie to me, Henry; don't deceive _me_. You think I felt sorry for you when you volunteered me to drive Graham and Emma to the hospital? You think I felt sorry for you when I found out you were skipping school to hang out with _her_?"

He wriggled in her hold. "Of course you wouldn't. You never feel sorry for anyone. You never care about anyone except yourself. At least Emma _tries_ to be a good mom because _she_ actually—"

A foot came swinging to his face, and made his head jerk to the side. His left cheek buzzed and burned, and yet he couldn't make a move. Regina had him pinned down, her elbow digging into his throat. "Don't. You. _Ever_."

Henry's eyes widened as he struggled to breathe.

"Listen—to—my—words—Henry," her fierce eyes burned deeply into his soul. "You've been a naughty boy today."

Her voice slithered slowly and coiled around his neck, breaking him—killing him.

"Do you _know_ what I do to little boys who are naughty?"

If he could just get his hand free from her grip…

Her voice lowered, her elbow dug in deeper, and her lower-lip quivered. "I _rip_ the naughtiness out of them…to teach them a lesson."

He felt the weight of her body shift, and he realized he could slightly wiggle his hand. Slightly.

"But _sometimes,_ naughty, little boys never really learn. They constantly have to be taught the same lesson. But they just find more and more ways to make me—"

Henry punched her. Punched her jaw. Her head went flying back and he chose that moment to break free. And run. And hide. But the damage was already done.

He flew up the stairs as quick as he could. His foot got caught on the carpet at the top of the stairs and he fell. His heart beat faster—louder. Regina's voice grew angrier—closer. He crawled limply toward his room until he collapsed just in front of it. Henry gasped. Pain. Twisted streaks of pain all over his bruising body. His arm was hugging his stomach protectively. It was only a matter of time before she caught him.

Of course she would catch him. She always did in the end. Each time he pushed away, she pulled him back harder. Each time, he would find sneakier ways to break free, and each time, she would find harsher ways to release her anger. Henry waited for his mother to reach him and drag him down the stairs and tie him to a chair and raise her belt. But she never came.

Henry peeked beside the potted plant he was lying behind. He realized his mother's voice had died out. As he looked through the bars of the stairs and down to the floor, he saw her.

Regina was crouched on the ground. Her arms folded across her stomach and her body bent over her knees. She wasn't moving. She wasn't screaming. She was still. But Henry looked closer, listened harder. He realized she wasn't silent. There was a soft cry. A quiet sob emerged from her throat very swiftly and unnoticeably as if that sob had been practiced and used many times. As if his mother had sobbed like that so many times, she could now make it unheard. She lifted her head a few inches and he could see her face. And just by the look of her face, right then and right there, he knew one thing about his mother: the pain in her expression was far worse than anything Henry had ever felt. Just looking at her couldn't even compare to what he felt at his aching side. It wasn't physical pain. It wasn't just emotional pain either. There was regret, and anger, and betrayal, and loss, and revenge, and suffering, and sorrow all spread across her face evenly. Her expression was so complicated and twisted it was hard to label it as 'just pain'. And the look on her face came so easily and calmly to her despite her state of suffering. It almost looked as if she had been feeling like this for so long. This night wasn't her first time being like this. Not even close.

Henry couldn't take it anymore. He was torn between going downstairs and comforting her, or crawling back to his room to hide. He looked down again, and saw that his mother had stood. She was now fixing her appearance in the mirror like she always does. Then she left. Henry retreated to his bedroom.

He shut the door and took off his shirt to examine his body. What he saw before him made him gasp. Pools of purple and beads of blood painted his torso. Not once did he wince when he pressed a wet paper towel against the stinging scrapes. Not once did he cry aloud when the side of his stomach accidentally bumped into his bedside table. Henry couldn't dare acknowledge to himself that his body was in pain. He now knew what true, raw pain was. He saw it with his own eyes. He discovered it with a few peaks behind the potted plant. He'd witnessed it, and he loathed it.

Suddenly, there was a sound of a door creaking open. He turned around, still pressing a dry, bloody paper towel to his neck. It was Regina, with her make-up perfect as if it hadn't been dampened with tears, and her hair combed as if it wasn't scrunched into knots with her own enraged fingers. She stood in the doorway, looking down at her shirtless, bruised son. "Come here," she motioned for him to move closer with her finger.

Henry set down the folded paper towel and rushed across the room into his mother's arms. She wasn't expecting a hug, but that was all Henry was willing to do to comfort her.

"Remember, this is our little secret," she said it the same way she always said it.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," Henry whispered into her ear.

He felt Regina stiffen in his arms. She didn't know the real reason why Henry was apologizing, and maybe she would never know why. But in that moment, after the slaps and kicks and screams, he promised himself.

He would _never_ let his mother feel that pain again.


	10. Broken Glass

"Regina!" yelled Graham, as he pounded his fist against the door. "I know you're in there!"

It had been five days since Emma was brought to the hospital. Holding her unconscious hand every morning and every night was the only thing keeping Graham sane. The thin memory of her voice and the blurry image of her smile were just barely fading away in his mind. He needed someone to talk to, to hold, to remind him why life was worth living.

The door creaked open. "Hi, Sheriff!"

"Hello, Henry," said Graham in a slightly bored voice. "Is your mom home?"

Henry hesitated. "Um, I don't think she wants to see you right now. Sorry."

Just as Henry was about to swing the door shut, Graham caught it and held it wide open. "Why wouldn't she want to see me?"

"She doesn't want to see anyone at all, I guess," shrugged Henry.

"Henry, let me talk to her. Please."

"No."

"What? Why not?"

"Because the last time you came here, you broke my mom's heart, and I won't let you try to fix it again. That night you came here, you and my mom were on the front porch all night talking about whatever, and she started screaming at you and you didn't do anything to stop her. She slammed the door in your face and started throwing things across the room and breaking things. You probably didn't even care. You ignored my mom for almost a month. You had weeks to come back here and apologize, but you didn't. And now, I'm not letting you in."

"Henry…" he tried to plead, but only received a firm shake of his head.

Suddenly, he heard something made of glass crash against the floor of the second story.

"What was that?" asked Graham.

"What was _what_?" said Henry, quickly blocking Graham's move to enter the house.

Another crash.

"_That_. That noise. It sounds like it's coming from upstairs."

"I don't hear anything."

"It's your mom, isn't it?"

"Um, no, it's our cat."

"You don't have a cat."

"We got one this morning and the cat's having a hard time—"

Graham harshly pushed Henry aside as he raced for the stairs. Henry landed on his side, where his bruises had started to heal. He winced and quickly rose to go after Graham. He tripped on the stairs a couple of times and paused to tend to his leg, where a cut had freshly reopened. Henry bit back his scream and slowly continued to crawl back up the stairs. He couldn't let Graham get to his mom. Because then, Graham would apologize and act like he cared about her, and then his mom would fall for it again and accept it, and then Graham would get bored of her again and leave her.

"Leave me alone, you sick bastard," the words erupted from his mom's bedroom.

"I'm coming, Mom, I'm coming!" called Henry almost at the top of the stairs.

"Regina, put that down, you're going to hurt yourself!" came Graham's voice.

Another crash was heard, and a loud whimper quickly followed.

Finally, Henry got to his feet and raced toward his mom's bedroom. He burst open the door and stopped.

There was broken glass everywhere. Empty bottles of wine were lying across Regina's bed. His mother was on the floor with cuts all over her face, arms, and legs. Graham sat next to her, cradling her in his undeserving arms. Her eyes were squeezed closed, and Graham's forearm was covering her mouth. A muffled screech released from her throat as if she were screaming into his arms. Her hand was wrapped tightly around a half-empty, half-broken bottle.

"What did you do to her?" said Henry quietly.

"She was like this when I came in," Graham claimed.

"Get away from her!" Henry said, rushing to his mom's side, and pulling Graham's arms off of her.

"Henry, no, it's not safe," Graham said. "There's too many broken glass lying around. I wouldn't want you—"

"I don't care."

Henry slung his arms underneath hers and pulled her to her feet. He kept his arms locked around her waist.

"Henry…." moaned Regina, slowly swinging her arm with a bottle in hand.

"Mom, it's okay, I'm right here."

"Get off of…me," she slurred, trying to shake Henry off.

Henry unwillingly did so. He looked at his mom's eyes. Droopy and bloodshot red. Her hands were shaking. Her breath smelled so bitter and foul that it almost made Henry gag.

Regina tried walked to the edge of her bed, but her legs collapsed before her. Graham sighed. He took the bottle from her hand. He swept off the other bottles from her bed. Then he picked Regina up and carried her to her bed.

"Don't…don't touch me, Graham," Regina said.

"Henry, I think you should leave," he said, ignoring Regina.

"But…where do I go? I live here."

"I want to die!" yelled Regina in slow, colliding words. "I want to die right here."

Henry watched her quietly. He tried to stop his lower lip from quivering, then left the room and closed the door behind them. He sat down, leaning against the door with his eyes shut.

"You could've killed yourself, you know."

"Good, that's what I wanted."

Henry's eyes grew heavier and heavier. His body didn't feel like moving anymore.

"You don't mean that. Stop saying things."

_It's okay_, Henry told himself. _Graham will take care of her. Just close your eyes. It'll be okay._

"Put your shirt back on, Regina, that's not why I'm here."

_It'll be okay. Graham's here. Graham's going to fix everything. He always does._

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm…I'm worried about Emma."

"Oh God, Graham, not again."

_He's going to fix everything and everything will be perfect again_.

"She hasn't woken up yet, and Dr. Whale said she should've by now."

"Why the hell are you telling me?"

"Well, I…I thought you could help me."

_Everything will be perfect. Everything will be perfect. Everything will be…_

"Of course I won't help you! And…and get off of me. Can't y-you see I'm trying t-to die?"

"Stop that. Regina, _stop_!"

A bottle crashed against the door harshly. But Henry didn't move a muscle.

"Stay away from me, Graham. I don't need you. I don't...need…"

_Perfect_.


End file.
